


Oh, I will carry You Over Fire & Water for Your Love

by angelica_barnes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anorexia, Drug Use, Insomnia, Other, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, learning to love yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 16:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14476596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelica_barnes/pseuds/angelica_barnes
Summary: you are a seriously mentally unstable person that every boy fell in love with. and they don't care if you love them.they only care that you don't die.(not that you live. that you don't die.)





	Oh, I will carry You Over Fire & Water for Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from "Through The Dark" by One Direction

Your blood is pretty, you think. It’s scarlet, and it stains your clothing - dammit, you curse as a droplet falls onto your white t-shirt. It’s Harry’s, actually, and you want to die in the hole you’ve dug yourself into.

Trying to sneak across the hall to your room, a floorboard creaks beneath your foot. You hiss, freezing, and you hope no one’s heard. But then sleepy eyes peek out at you from the doorway down the hall, and his curls flop over his head lazily.

His eyes widen when he sees you, and he walks up to gently take your wrists in his hands and turn them over, examining the scars. He gasps, breathing out something you can’t hear, because the blood you’ve shed is pumping through your ears.

Harry picks you up bridal style and takes you to his bedroom, where he bandages you up and gives you a clean t-shirt and sweater, your favorites of his, the flowery pattern and lilac cashmere.

 

 

-

 

Louis’ smile is crooked when he looks at you. It doesn’t occur to you that it could be because of fond, so you assume he’s mocking you for your shape. You try to sit straighter, to wear baggier clothes, but it’s still not enough.

Eventually you stop eating. It goes from one meal skipped, to two, to three and maybe there’s a snack just big enough to keep you alive. If Louis notices the overstocked cupboards, the ones filled for two but being emptied by one, he says nothing.

Then he puts on a movie one night, and pulls you close. You feel as if you could fall asleep and stay like that forever, head resting on his shoulder. But instead his body tenses as he feels your side, and you hang your head in shame as he lifts your shirt over your head and sucks in a breath.

You look terrible, you know.

Louis presses kisses to your face and arms and neck and back and legs and everywhere he can reach, whispering that you are beautiful. He orders a giant meal because he can’t cook, and as soon as the takeout comes in, you stand to leave, with the excuse that you’re tired.

But he pulls you back down and gently lifts food into your mouth, and you’re forced to chew and swallow. Somehow, you feel better.

 

 

-

 

Niall’s jacket keeps you warm. He lends it to you whenever you forget your own, which is often, and you try to return the favor by snuggling into his side. You feel safe with his arm tucked around you, and his smile is soft and kind when he looks down at you with those blue, blue eyes.

They’re icy, but so, so warm.

You hate your eyes. You’re not sure what color they are, but surely they can’t be as pretty as Niall’s. You’ve never looked in a mirror really, and your hair is cropped so short people mistake you for a boy all too often - you’re not sure which you are. Your skin changes with the amount of sun you get, and you don’t smile as much.

How this blonde boy fell in love with someone like you, you’ve no idea.

You mumble that you hate your body into his ear one night when he’s sleeping. You whisper how messed up your brain is, how you have no talent, and you write millions of letters that litter the floor in shaky scrawl. They’re all addressed to yourself, and they include three words.

_ I hate you. _

Over and over, and you forget to clean them up. So you have to watch, helpless, as Niall reads each one, face falling, eyes dimming, smile fading. Everything about him is beautiful, even with his emotions laid out on the table for you to see.

And right now, he’s disappointed in you.

You apologize, as he stares at you with pitying eyes and the sympathetic expression you hate so much, and your voice is too soft, too hoarse, too weak to be heard, you think. 

Niall wraps you in his arms and rocks you, stroking your too-short hair, and he tells you he loves you as you are, but that you need to love yourself too.

You murmur that you don’t know how, and he cries.

 

 

-

 

You lie awake in the middle of the night, eyes open and tired, but you can’t sleep. Liam breathes steadily next to you, peaceful and wonderful and caring, with such soft edges. You trace his tattoos and admire him, in the pitch black where no one can catch you or judge.

A sound comes from outside the door, and your hand, gently rubbing Liam’s arm, tightens and your fingers curl around his muscle, nails digging into his skin.

He wakes up abruptly and asks you what’s wrong, you stare at the doorway and shake, shake and shake and shake, shiver and shiver and shiver. He whispers that it’s alright, wrapping you in his arms.

But until the sun opens its eye, you stay stock still with the exception of your uncontrollable quiver, and Liam kisses your trembling lips softly.

He tells you it’s okay, and you don’t believe him.

 

 

-

 

The crinkled dollar bill rolls easily as you twist it in your fingers. You tap the white grain into the hollow cylinder and hold the end between your lips, breathing in. Your vision blurs, your hearing goes as everything becomes out of focus, and you sigh in pleasure.

You fall back onto the cement and suddenly footsteps slow and then quicken; your heart beats fast, racing in your chest, and your eyelids droop with exhaustion as the high sweeps through you.

Someone whispers your name frantically, and then somebody’s cradling you in their arms and kissing you, breathing their fresh air into your black, crumbling lungs. You cough and fight to open your eyes, mumbling a name under your breath.

Zayn holds you and murmurs that it’s all gonna be okay, and you try to listen. Your head is pounding, and the sirens fast approaching, louder and louder, aren’t helping.

You whisper an apology, and he shushes you; he tells you softly that you’ve nothing to be sorry for at all.

 

 

-

 

You stare at yourself in the mirror, the slightly-pretty person with a filthy face, and you take a step forward to press your hand to the glass. You spread your fingers, leaving a handprint in the midst of the steam, and you manage a small smile.

That’s you.


End file.
